Lived Out This Innocent Time
by Kayar
Summary: "Must've been nice, though," Emma remarked, letting just a touch of wistfulness creep into her voice. "Even though you didn't know who he was, you still got to see him grow up." Or, five memories Mary Margaret has of Henry from a cursed Storybrooke.


Title: Lived Out This Innocent Time  
Author: Kayar  
Rating: G  
Spoilers: Season 1  
Disclaimer: OUAT and its characters are not mine.

Summary: "Must've been nice, though," Emma remarked, letting just a touch of wistfulness creep into her voice. "Even though you didn't know who he was, you still got to see him grow up." Or, five memories Mary Margaret has of Henry from a cursed Storybrooke.

* * *

_"You still got to see him grow up."_

Snow White turned her daughter's words over and over in her head. Truth be told, she couldn't remember many details about what life was like in Storybrooke before Emma arrived, and it was hard to tell the real memories apart from ones fabricated by the curse. But Henry, her memories of Henry must be real; the curse would not have given her false memories of a child who did not exist until 18 years after it was cast.

* * *

**i.**

It was a beautiful Sunday morning and it seemed like the entire town was out at the park. Mary Margaret sat at her usual park bench, scattering liberal amounts of birdseed on the ground in front of her. Mostly pigeons and doves today, she noted, with a few brave sparrows in the mix, and judging by the twittering in the trees overhead, there were plenty of songbirds waiting their turn as well.

She was so lost in her observations that she almost did not notice she had company. The boy squatted down on pudgy legs, grabbing fistfuls of birdseed off the ground and tossing it closer to the birds. Although they gave him a wide berth, the birds seemed unconcerned by the child who inched forward every minute or so to grab more birdseed.

Henry Mills, Mary Margaret recalled. The mayor's son. She looked up, scanning the park for the boy's mother. She spotted Mayor Mills over by the picnic tables, deep in conversation with the sheriff. She debated briefly whether she should return the boy to his mother, but she always had the distinct impression that the mayor did not like her, so she generally made an effort to avoid her as much as possible. Besides, she rationalized, he hadn't wandered that far away.

Smiling, Mary Margaret crouched down next to the boy and held out her bag of birdseed. He grinned back at her, grabbed a handful from the bag, and flung it towards the flock of birds, giggling as they hopped and shuffled closer to where the seeds landed.

She broke off her gaze and looked up as a familiar trill pierced the air. Although many of the birds in Storybrooke were gentle, there was one bluebird in particular who was nearly completely tame and friendly enough to eat out of her hand. And today, like always, she could tell by its insistent chirping that it was tired of waiting its turn for food. Sure enough, it was perched on the back of the bench she had just vacated, fixing her with an impatient look.

Mary Margaret eased herself back up to the bench and grabbed fresh birdseed, offering it out in her open palm. The bluebird responded with a cheerful whistle and flitted from the bench to her outstretched hand, pecking at the seeds greedily.

She could see Henry had turned his attention from the birds on the ground to the one on her hand, observing their exchange with a look of wonderment on his small face. Mary Margaret motioned for him to come closer, and he hurried over to the bench as fast as his legs could carry him, standing at attention directly in front of her.

"Open your hand," she instructed gently, pantomiming the motion so he would understand. Carefully, she poured a tiny amount of seed into his open palm and lowered the bluebird on her finger. The bird cautiously pecked some of the seeds from the boy's hand, causing him to nearly shriek with laughter. Mary Margaret cringed slightly, worried the loud noise would frighten the bird, but it simply looked up at him before it resumed eating.

"HENRY!"

Pigeons and doves scattered in every direction as Regina Mills strode through the flock, and the bluebird on Mary Margaret's finger chirped in alarm and flew away.

"Mommy! Birds!" Henry cried gleefully, gesturing to the birds that were now in the trees above him.

"Henry, you can't run off like that," Regina scolded, taking his hand and tugging him back towards the picnic tables. She cast an icy look back at Mary Margaret before returning her focus to Henry. "And you shouldn't play with birds; they're dirty and can make you sick."

Although he was nearly running to match his mother's hurried pace, the little boy still managed to turn around and give Mary Margaret one last shy smile before turning back to follow his mother.

* * *

**ii.**

_Thunk!_

The unmistakable sound of two objects colliding echoed down the school hallway. Mary Margaret jumped and spun around, looking out into the darkened corridor. This wing of Storybrooke Elementary was always silent on Friday evenings. She spent her Fridays preparing her classroom for the next week's lessons and activities, and she had yet to see another soul in the school at that time, save for Leroy the janitor, who always packed up and left in time for happy hour. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she turned back to the decorations on her bulletin board, trying to focus on the cardstock cutouts of forest animals instead of whoever - or whatever - was lurking in the hall.

Mary Margaret had always been a little frightened of the unknown, especially when the unknown included things that made noise in a dark, supposedly deserted building. As much as her rational mind knew there was no danger, she could not help but think of the villains and creatures who periodically plagued her nightmares, likely borne of scary movies she had accidentally watched as a child, or perhaps even late-night horror films from her college days.

A minute later, the silence was broken again, this time by the unmistakable sound of someone quietly crying. Mary Margaret knew she had to do something. Pushing aside images of shadowy, glittery-eyed demons and sociopaths who ruthlessly, relentlessly pursued their victims, she stepped out into the hallway.

There, hidden under a table featuring the second graders' art projects, was the mayor's son, his little knees drawn up to his chest and his face buried in his arms.

"Henry?" Mary Margaret called out hesitantly, not wanting to frighten him. "What are you doing here?"

He lifted up his head to look at her, clearly just as surprised as she was to see another person. "I-I don't know where my mommy is!" The boy was desperately trying to put on a brave face, but his quivering chin and wavering voice told another story. "I was at her meeting but I had to go to the bathroom a-and now I don't know how to get back..."

He sniffled and wiped his nose with his sleeve, and Mary Margaret's heart nearly broke at the pitiful sight. She vaguely recalled that the PTA met once a month in the gym, but that was all the way on the other side of the school. The poor child must have gotten turned around when he left the bathroom. Meeting her sympathetic gaze for a moment, he ducked his head, looking ashamed to be caught crying.

"Hey, it's okay," Mary Margaret said, kneeling down to his level. "I know things can seem more scary when you're alone."

Mary Margaret extended a hand to the boy, feeling inexplicably overjoyed when he took it with only a moment's hesitation. She looked down at him and gave him her most encouraging smile, the one she reserved for her students stumbling over vocabulary words or frustrated over multiplication tables. She gave his hand a quick squeeze as they stood, turning them both towards the gym. "I bet we can find your mom if we work together."

* * *

**iii.**

Engrossed in her latest book, Mary Margaret paid no mind to the other patrons at Granny's Diner and did not notice when Mayor Mills and her son took their seats at the center of the bar. She paused in her reading just long enough to place her order with Ruby, and then she was back amidst the adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

"Wait." Regina's voice rang out with so much authority that the bustling diner fell silent, and everyone, including Mary Margaret, looked up in curiosity. Regina was staring at the mug Ruby had just placed in front of Henry. "What. Is. That?" The mayor glared up at their waitress with such suspicion, Mary Margaret couldn't help but wonder how badly Ruby had botched their order.

Ruby raised an eyebrow. "Um, Henry's hot chocolate."

"Ruby." Granny's voice carried a warning note to keep her attitude under wraps in front of the mayor.

"I am aware that Henry ordered hot chocolate," Regina replied coolly. "What is _that_ on top?"

Ruby snapped her gum and peered down at the offending object. "Oh, that's cinnamon."

"Cinnamon," Regina repeated contemptuously, as if Ruby had said 'arsenic' instead.

"Must've gotten your order mixed up with someone else's," Ruby shrugged. "Sorry, Henry."

While Regina was busy lecturing Ruby on the dangers of incorrect orders and food allergies, no one but Mary Margaret noticed Henry lean down and cautiously take a sip of the drink. No one but Mary Margaret noticed the way his face lit up.

As Regina finished her reprimand, Ruby sighed and blew a lock of hair out of her face. "Sorry, Madam Mayor, it won't happen again. I'll get that out of your way, Henry," she offered as she reached for the mug.

"No!" Henry cried, hunching his shoulders and curling his hands around the mug protectively. Ruby drew her hand back in surprise. "No thank you," he amended hastily, remembering his manners with a cautious glance to his mother. "I'll keep it. It's really good!"

Regina's mouth curled into what looked like a snarl, but quickly softened when Henry grinned up at her.

Her book momentarily forgotten, Mary Margaret watched with barely-concealed fascination as Henry chattered excitedly to his mother in between gulps of hot chocolate, his legs swinging from the bar stool.

"Mom, do you think lasagna would be good with cinnamon on top? What about grilled cheese?"

A few minutes later, Ruby stopped by Mary Margaret's table and set down a steaming mug of hot chocolate sprinkled with cinnamon. "Here you go, Mary Margaret. Sorry about the wait."

* * *

**iv.**

For the first two weeks of the school year, Henry Mills arrived in class every morning with a bright red apple and an even brighter smile. "From my mom's tree, Miss Blanchard. I picked it myself," he explained on the first day, beaming as Mary Margaret carefully arranged the apple front and center on her desk.

"Thank you, Henry." She smiled warmly before directing him back to his seat and beginning the day's lesson.

And for the first two weeks of the school year, Mary Margaret arrived in the teachers' lounge at noon and placed a bright red apple in the fruit bowl next to the coffee maker. She wished she liked apples, she truly did, especially now that Henry seemed to take such pride in presenting them to her each day. She even willed herself to try one, but after one small bite the taste and texture made her stomach turn and she couldn't bear to eat any more. So the apples continued to make their way from her desk to the teachers' lounge each day. There was no sense in throwing them away when there were plenty of other teachers who did enjoy the mayor's prize-winning fruit.

By the third week of school, however, Mary Margaret began to notice a change in Henry. He still gave her an apple every day, but his enthusiasm had waned. He reluctantly pulled the fruit from his bag and handed it to her the same way other children handed over contraband chewing gum or noisemakers. Some days he did not give her an apple until lunchtime or even the end of the day. She briefly wondered if the other students were teasing him for being a teacher's pet, but she had seen no evidence of bullying in the classroom or on the playground.

On Friday, there was still no sign of an apple from Henry when the afternoon bell rang. As the students cleared their desks and rushed out the door, she noticed that Henry was still sitting at his desk, staring forlornly at his bookbag in front of him.

"Henry," she said gently, "it's time to go home."

Slowly, he pulled an apple out of his bookbag. He held it in his hands, contemplating it for a moment before rising from his chair and making his way over to her desk, eyes downcast.

"You don't like apples, do you, Miss Blanchard?" It was more of a statement than a question. "I never see you eating them, even though you sometimes eat the pears that Susie brings you. Plus, I saw Mother Superior eating one of the apples after school yesterday, and I know my mom has never brought any apples to the nuns."

So that was why he seemed so distant lately. Mary Margaret gave him a sad smile and wondered why she suddenly felt so guilty for disliking a fruit. "No, I'm afraid I don't care for them, Henry."

He nodded, still not looking directly at her. "I told my mom I didn't think you liked them, but she told me I should keep bringing them for you anyway. She said it's the best way to show that I'm glad you're my teacher. But I'm worried you'll be mad at me," he admitted, "for bringing you something I know you don't like."

"Oh, Henry," Mary Margaret sighed, leaning down to try and meet his eyes. "I'm not mad at all. It's a _very_ thoughtful gift. It's not you or your mom's fault that I don't like apples."

He looked up at her. "Are you sure you're not mad?" She nodded firmly and he sighed in relief, finally seeming to believe her. "Okay. Because none of the other kids like me, and I was worried you wouldn't like me now either."

"Henry, you are a star student, and I am lucky to have you in my class. And it doesn't matter whether you bring me an apple or a pear or nothing at all, because I will still think you are wonderful."

That was enough to finally coax a smile out of him. "Thanks, Miss Blanchard. See you on Monday."

After Henry left, Mary Margaret sat back in her chair, reflecting on his words. _None of the other kids like me._ She had noticed that he seemed to be a bit of a loner, always struggling to find a partner for group activities and spending most of his free time reading alone. She knew it must be difficult for him to make new friends as the mayor's son.

Suddenly, a thought struck her as she remembered an old book of stories she had come across recently. She had always loved the classic tales and their happily ever afters, a hopeful reminder that things could get better. She quickly jotted down a note in her day planner, reminding herself to try and give Henry Mills a reason to smile more often.

* * *

**v.**

Mary Margaret took her class out for ice cream twice a year, usually when the weather was nice and the children were going stir-crazy from being cooped up in a classroom all day. She tried her best to turn it into something educational, and this time she was going to use it as a math lesson. Fractions were a tough concept to grasp, but she had a feeling her students would be more willing to learn if there was the promise of a sugary reward at the end.

It was unseasonably warm for early October, and Mary Margaret tipped her head back as she walked down Main Street, relishing the sunshine. Next to her, Henry Mills chattered animatedly about the adventures of Rumpelstiltskin and Cinderella and _wait, was that really how the story went?_ Mary Margaret cast a glance down at Henry with a fond smile. The boy certainly did have an active imagination.

She was glad she had given Henry that book. Although he still seemed lonely and somewhat isolated from his peers, he was more energetic and interested in his classwork. She noticed that his creative writing assignments had shifted from superheroes, robots, and spaceships to knights, dragons, and wizards, but he threw himself into the assignments with such gusto that she couldn't help but think it was a good thing. If some of his assignments involved casting some of the people around town as famous fairy tale characters, so be it.

"Have you ever had long hair, Miss Blanchard?"

The question threw her for a moment, and she unconsciously moved a hand along the tips of her hair as she pondered her response. "I've had my hair short for a really long time, Henry," was the answer she finally settled upon. "I think it was long when I was much younger, but I can't really remember."

Henry gave her a scrutinizing look, as if he were trying to decipher a riddle. Finally, he nodded matter-of-factly. "I think you did. Snow White has long hair in the book."

"Oh?" Mary Margaret felt genuinely flattered by the comparison. "I suppose I would have to have longer hair to look like Snow White."

Henry shook his head. "No, I mean you _are_ Snow White." She looked at him, puzzled, as he pressed on. "Everyone in Storybrooke is a character from the book! The Evil Queen placed a curse on everyone so they would forget who they really are."

Mary Margaret decided to play along a little longer, indulging both his imagination and her own curiosity. "So which character are you?"

He shook his head again and looked down at the ground. "I'm not in it."

"Why not?" she asked, a bit taken aback that he would not assign a role for himself in this elaborate fantasy world.

"Because I'm the only one who's not cursed!" Henry insisted, his face as serious as she'd ever seen it. "I'm not from Storybrooke; I'm different, so the curse doesn't affect me."

And there it was. She might not have a PhD like Dr. Hopper, but Mary Margaret knew where this was going. She paused to turn and face Henry, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Henry," she said, "just because you were adopted does not mean that you are any different from anyone else in Storybrooke." He shrugged out of her hold and kept walking. Determined to cheer him up, Mary Margaret gestured to the ice cream parlor as they approached it. "Besides, why would the Evil Queen create a curse that includes 32 flavors of ice cream? That doesn't sound very evil to me."

"Because she only likes the weird flavors," Henry grumbled as he trudged through the open door.

Inside the air-conditioned chill of the ice cream parlor, Mary Margaret turned her focus to the entire class as she handed out their worksheets. As usual, Henry was the first to turn in his sheet and quickly entered the line for his ice cream, looking in considerably better spirits thanks to the prospect of chocolate ice cream (which he correctly identified on his paper as one-eighth of the flavor options, she noted). The rest of the class followed one by one, and soon the shop was filled with the happy sounds of children laughing and talking as they enjoyed their treats. Mary Margaret entered the line behind her last student, feeling content with the successful outing as she debated whether she wanted a cup or a cone.

But then little Scott Blau, who must have been feeling sick all day but didn't want to miss the class trip, chose that exact moment to throw up cotton candy ice cream all over himself, the floor, and the shoes of several of his classmates. Her ice cream forgotten, Mary Margaret grabbed a handful of napkins and rushed over to the group of students. In her haste to keep her class under control and clean up the mess, she barely heard Henry call out, "Do you need someone to pay for the ice cream, Miss Blanchard?"

She gratefully handed him her wallet out of her purse. "Use the gold credit card," she instructed breathlessly, before turning back to the task at hand. He returned a few minutes later, looking pleased as ever that he was able to be a help to his teacher.

"Thank you, Henry," Mary Margaret said as she steered a queasy-looking Scott and the rest of her class out of the shop and back to school, tucking the wallet into her purse.

.

And if it seemed that her wallet felt a little lighter, she honestly did not notice until a few weeks later when a blonde stranger walked into her classroom and back into her life.

* * *

(1/1)

A/N: I'd like to thank/curse Once Upon a Time for making me obsess over its characters to the point that I could not get this story out of my head. Please review; I'd love to hear what y'all thought of my first venture into the fandom!


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